


Snow Angel

by Lurlur



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Asphyxiation, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale has balls! He needs a dick to match!, Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Cocaine, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Deepthroating, Detective Crowley, Drug Dealing, Drugs, Explicit Sexual Content, I'm Sorry Neil Gaiman, M/M, Mild and Brief Asphyxiation, No beta we fall like Crowley, No one is a good person in this, Oh fuck where to start?, Police, Police Procedural, Rated E for A Dick With Presence, So Many Bad Ideas, So many ethics breaches, Spit As Lube, drug dealer aziraphale, help! my porn has a police procedural in it!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:55:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29850810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurlur/pseuds/Lurlur
Summary: Detective Constable Crowley has been working the "Snow Angel" case for almost a year. It's Christmas Eve and finally, his luck seems to have come in. Arresting Aziraphale Fell, big-time drug dealer, is the easy part. Questioning him is the hard part.It's a police procedural that goes sideways. I'd say it still manages to have a more coherent plot than any episode of Prodigal Son, but that's not saying much.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Dagon (Good Omens)
Comments: 60
Kudos: 152
Collections: Good Omens Human AUs, Top Aziraphale Recs





	Snow Angel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Caedmon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caedmon/gifts).



> Happy birthday, my darling twin!!!
> 
> As promised, SNOW ANGEL!  
> The prompt suggestion you spurned at Christmas has come back to haunt you! And also me. And anyone else who clicks on this...
> 
> Sorry. It was funny at the time!
> 
> I think I've tagged this sufficiently but please do tell me if I've missed anything.

“We’ve got him, come on, get your kit on,” Dagon threw the stab vest at Crowley’s head as she passed, “I know you want to be there when we bring him in.”

Crowley scrambled to get his arms in the right holes, knocking his sunglasses off in the process.

“You mean the warrant actually cleared?” he asked, scooping his glasses up from the floor.

“Yep, it’s a bleeding Christmas miracle or something, so get your arse in gear. We’ve only got one shot at this and I’m not missing it because you were busy fannying with your hair.” She shot him a look that would have withered a cactus, but it did the trick.

He followed her down to the vehicle yard, clipping his radio onto the vest and patting his various pockets and belt loops to check that his usual equipment was all in place. Dagon slid into the driver’s seat of the unmarked car, waving Crowley around to the other side. She barked orders into her radio as she started the engine.

“All units, silent approach on Wardour Street, wait for my signal to deploy. DC Crowley gets the collar if possible. No time for questions so keep them until later. Converge ASAP. Out.” Dagon put the car into gear and tore out of the yard without waiting for any response.

“Thanks, Sarge,” Crowley said.

Dagon snorted, deflecting the thanks, but Crowley saw the twitch in her lip that signified an almost smile. He’d worked hard on this case, scraping together months of surveillance, witness statements, GPS data, and financial records until there was something that would stick. It had taken almost a year of his life to build this case, cost him more sleepless nights than he could count, and caused the end of a reasonably promising relationship. These were the sacrifices that he had been willing to make in his pursuit of the most prolific drug dealer in Soho.

The car came to a sharp halt in the middle of Wardour Street, its rear lights flashing in warning and picking out the few floating flakes of snow that had the misfortune to fall on this miserable scene. It was a little after 4 pm on Christmas Eve, and the sun was already so low as to be invisible behind the buildings of London.

“Units in position?” Dagon snapped, her radio crackling.

“Aye, Sarge,” came the staticky response.

“You ready for this, Crowley?” she asked in a far softer voice.

“Yeah, let’s get this bastard,” Crowley said, gritting his teeth and setting his jaw.

Dagon squeezed her fist mic again.

“DC Crowley and I breach, all other units follow. The target is A. Z. Fell, he must not be allowed to evade. Bravo team, cover the rear. Approach with caution and wait my signal.”

Crowley knew they’d get their man today, Sergeant Dagon never let a collar slip her by and, honestly, there was no one else Crowley would want leading this charge.

They left the car and walked the short distance to the bookshop that Fell used as a cover for his operation. All the available intel said there would be a delivery today and they should be about to catch Fell up to his knees in cocaine.

The moment before the breach stretched out long and tense, like a rubber band at the verge of breaking. Crowley took a deep breath, trying to will the tension out of his body, and he felt Dagon do the same beside him just before she gave the signal.

Shouldering the door open, Crowley threw himself into the bookshop and began checking for threats as he progressed. He could see Fell sitting at his desk with a perfect expression of shock on his soft-looking face, but rushing at his target could make him vulnerable to ambush. Crowley wanted to take no chances with this operation and that meant advancing gradually, trusting that the other officers were making escape impossible.

Even Crowley could see how startling their black uniforms looked against the warm light and traditional Christmas decorations of the bookshop. Fell really had picked a great cover for his operation.

Finally, he reached the desk and the man sitting at it. He’d seen pictures and footage of Fell, even glimpsed him from a distance during covert surveillance, but he’d never been this close before. Nothing about the man’s appearance betrayed his criminal identity, but Crowley was experienced enough to know that looks could be deceiving.

Content that his fellow officers were closing in around them. Crowley set aside his riot shield and reached for the handcuffs on his belt.

“Aziraphale Fell?” he demanded, knowing the answer but needing the confirmation all the same.

The man at the desk blinked owlishly, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. Crowley felt his answering smirk, pleased at having caught Fell unawares.

“That’s me, officer,” Fell answered, rising from his seat, “what’s this all about?”

In a single fluid movement, Crowley took hold of Fell’s arm and twisted him around to bend over the desk. The first cuff locked into place with a satisfying clunk before Crowley spoke again.

“Aziraphale Fell, I am arresting you on suspicion of possession of a class A substance with intent to supply. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something that you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.” As Crowley gave the short speech from memory, he caught hold of Fell’s other wrist and secured it in the handcuffs before testing the hold.

“There has been some mistake, surely?” Fell said, protesting as Crowley manhandled him back to an upright position. “I’m just a bookseller!”

With his suspect secured, Crowley finally let himself believe that his case was really coming to an end. Ignoring Fell’s protests, he grabbed the man’s elbow and began steering him towards the door. Dagon brought him up short with a nod of her head.

“You take him back to the station and I’ll coordinate the search here, I want you taking the lead on the questioning, alright?”

“Thanks, sarge,” said Crowley with a nod.

“Excuse me?” Fell interjected, “There are extremely valuable books in this shop. I must insist upon seeing your search warrant before allowing you to touch a single volume on these shelves.”

Dagon laughed without humour and produced the signed warrant from her stab vest, holding it where Fell could see that they had been granted legal permission to turn over his entire establishment.

“We’ll be careful with the books, _angel_ ,” she said nastily and waved them away.

Crowley was still laughing about the indignant and frustrated huffs of annoyance from his detainee when they pulled up at the station a few minutes later.  Other than his noises of displeasure during the ride, Fell remained remarkably silent.  Crowley hadn’t  expected Fell to be much of a talker, but his claim of being an innocent bookseller lost some of its weight as he sat calmly in the back seat.

Crowley tugged Fell out of the car and steered him into the processing hall  for the most painstaking and exacting booking that Crowley had ever carried out. There was no way that he was going to risk this prosecution by fucking up the paperwork. Fell’s legal representation would undoubtedly look for any angle and Crowley was determined to keep their options as limited as possible. 

There was tinsel taped around the windows and a sad-looking tree in one corner, adding absolutely nothing in the way of Christmas cheer. If anything, Crowley thought, it made the place look even more depressing than usual. A reminder for the detainees of what they were missing outside this pale blue room.

A junior officer escorted them into a private room where Crowley released Fell’s handcuffs and secured them back on his belt.

“I’m going to search you for weapons or contraband,” Crowley said, positioning Fell with his hands on the wall, “if you have any items to declare, do so now.”

Fell chuckled  like the arrogant prick that he was.

“Just my cutting wit, officer.”

Crowley grit his teeth and shot a look at the other officer who rolled his eyes. It wasn’t even an original joke. Fuck, but Crowley hated this guy.

He pulled on surgical gloves and began a thorough search of Fell’s clothing. There were so many layers and separate pieces that Crowley had to move much more slowly than he would normally. He had to undo the bow tie, reach into the pockets of the waistcoat, feel the lining of the coat, all to make sure that Fell wouldn’t be a threat in the questioning room.

Finally, he dropped to a squat behind Fell and began feeling around his ankles before running his hands up one leg. At the apex of Fell’s thighs, Crowley froze just long enough for Fell to notice.

“Not a weapon, officer. I prefer to think of it as quite the opposite, in fact.” The bastard was laughing, mocking Crowley, and pressing himself more fully into Crowley’s hands.

Crowley managed to recover and search the other leg but he couldn’t shake the knowledge that not only was Fell hung like a bull, but he had been getting hard during Crowley’s search. In all of Crowley’s years as a police officer, he had never had a detainee react to a search like that. He carried out the rest of the search as professionally as he could, refusing to dignify Fell’s remark with an answer, but he was haunted by the knowledge all the same.

“Search is clear,” Crowley said, mostly to himself, as he stood and stepped back, “Fell, if you give the details to PC Terrence here, he’ll get you contact with your legal representation.”

Fell turned to face the room, smiling pleasantly and folding his hands over his stomach.

“I don’t think there’s any need for that, detective, I shouldn’t want to be a bother.”

It took a moment for Crowley’s brain to accept what his ears were telling him, his mouth slack with disbelief.

“Are you saying that you don’t want legal representation, Mr Fell?” he asked, wondering where the trap would spring from, “You are waiving your right to counsel?”

“That’s right. I’m sure we can get this misunderstanding cleared up without troubling anyone else.” He sounded so reasonable and pleasant that Crowley found himself nodding along in agreement. PC Terrence was even smiling like Fell was some kindly pensioner enquiring about a lost wallet.

“Take him to interview room 4,” Crowley said to the constable, snapping in his misplaced irritation.

He watched as Fell was led from the room, hearing the younger officer enquire abut what refreshment Fell would like while he waited.

As soon as the door slammed behind them, Crowley fell into a squat, sitting on his haunches and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. He wanted to scream. The clock was ticking on the time that Fell could be held for; everything that Crowley had been working towards was in the balance and would rely on what happened in the next 24 hours. Either his colleagues would turn up solid evidence, or Crowley would have to get something concrete out of Fell during questioning. Questioning for which he had already refused legal counsel. Fell was playing a game and Crowley didn’t know the rules.

There was no point in storming into the interview room and demanding answers, not with a man like Fell, he needed a plan of attack. Crowley headed to the locker room and changed out of his tactical gear in favour of his uniform shirt and tie. He freshened up in one of the sinks and restyled his hair until he looked just as put-together as he had when turning up at the station that morning.

His phone began to buzz frantically, vibrating repeatedly against his thigh.

“Sarge?” he said as he answered, Dagon’s name flashing on the screen.

“You get him booked in, Crowley?” Dagon was practically yelling over the noise of the search behind her.

“Yeah, he’s cooling off waiting for my first attack right now. You found anything yet?” Crowley tried not to sound too hopeful but they both knew how much this prosecution was going to rely on physical evidence.

“Big time,” Dagon said and Crowley could picture her toothy grin so clearly, “sending you pics over now. Initial reports suggest half a mil at least.”

Crowley let out a low whistle. That amount exceeded even their most outlandish estimates for this shipment.

“Wow, that’s one hell of a white Christmas.”

Dagon barked her weird laugh and then pulled the phone away from her face to yell. “Oi, Eric, you owe me twenty quid, he totally made the white Christmas joke.”

Crowley could just about hear the answering curses as his cheeks flushed with warmth. He hated the way that one-liners would slip out, like he was some cheesy 80s cop in an American sitcom.

“Cheers for winning that bet for me, Crowley. The first pint is on Eric,” Dagon teased.

“Yeah, my pleasure,” Crowley grumbled, dropping onto the thin wooden bench and switching the call to speakerphone. Several photos had arrived in his email already. “Jesus, sarge, you weren’t kidding. This is a massive haul. Where was it?”

“In the cellar. Found a door to the staircase at the back of the shop. Stuff’s clearly been moved recently, got footprints being preserved and then the fingerprint search will begin. Your intel was good, Crowley, you’re gonna be able to charge him really soon.”

“Thanks, sarge. Hopefully, we won’t have to keep anyone out too late tonight.” Just because Crowley had no plans for Christmas didn’t mean that he wanted his colleagues to miss out.

After hanging up, Crowley made for his desk, with a detour via the kettle for a fresh mug of coffee, where he sat down with Fell’s file and began to plan his questioning strategy. He printed copies of Dagon’s photos and logged them in his file. There wouldn’t be a single comma out of place when this all went to court.

It was almost half six when Crowley finally tucked the file under his arm, refreshed his coffee, and made his way to the interview room where Fell awaited him. He was feeling quietly confident; he’d built a solid case and done some of his best work in the past year. It was time for that effort to bear fruit.

Crowley let himself into the interview room, dropped the file on the table and walked a full circuit of the space whilst sipping his coffee. He could see the movement of Fell’s head as he tracked Crowley around the room but otherwise he was sat very still, his hands loosely folded on the table as if he were merely awaiting the arrival of his dinner.

Someone had taped a plastic Father Christmas to the back of the door and the frosted glass of the external window had vinyl snowflakes stuck to it. Briefly, Crowley wondered at the logic behind decorating an interview room, letting the distraction stretch his silence even further. Finally, he placed his mug on the table, folded himself into the chair opposite Fell, and pressed the button set into the table.

“Interview start time is 18:32 on the 24th of December, present are Detective Constable Crowley and Aziraphale Fell. Mr Fell has, at this time, chosen not to exercise his right to legal representation. For the record, Mr Fell, state your name and occupation.” Crowley gestured loosely towards Fell and picked up his coffee to take a sip.

Fell leaned forward as if to speak into a microphone on the table although there was none.

“Aziraphale Fell, bookseller.” He looked up at Crowley for, what? Approval?

Crowley gave a tight smile and leaned back in his chair. He brought his knee up to rest against the table and used his thigh as a stand for the file, opening it and flipping through it where Fell couldn’t see. He was waiting for the silence to get under Fell’s skin, the anticipation of the first question burning between them like a fuse of unknown length.

Frustratingly, Fell seemed perfectly content to wait. He barely moved in his seat, just settling back and relaxing as if this were the waiting room at a train station. Crowley had to grudgingly accept that he couldn’t count on this particular tactic to draw Fell out of his silence.

“Mr Fell, tell me about your day.” Crowley closed the file and looked directly at Fell with an unblinking stare.

“Ordinary sort of day, for the most part,” Fell said with a light chuckle, as if the sudden appearance of half of the Met’s finest officers was an oddity akin to finding a forgotten tenner in the pocket of an old coat, “I got up, opened the shop, and did a little reorganising of my classics section. I ordered lunch from the bistro right on the corner of Greek Street around 12:30, finished with the classics and sold a few last-minute Christmas gifts. I was about to close up when you and your fellows kicked in my door. I think that about covers it.” He smiled softly and returned Crowley’s eye contact.

“I assume you’ll have receipts and records to back up those sales?” Crowley asked. He plucked a pen from the breast pocket of his shirt and scribbled a note in the file.

“Naturally,” Fell said, “assuming that your colleagues haven’t managed to burn my shop to the ground.”

“And destroy all that lovely evidence? Perish the thought,” Crowley said as he tucked his pen away again and slid one of the photographs onto the table, “Care to explain how several hundred kilos of cocaine ended up in your cellar?”

Fell leaned closer, looking at the photo without touching it. His eyes widened briefly and his left hand flinched. Crowley was watching his every reaction as a hawk watches its prey.

“Goodness, that looks rather a lot. I wonder how it got there.”

Unable to help himself, Crowley laughed out loud. Of all the possible defences he had been prepared for, utter ignorance and pantomime innocence had never made the list.

“You mean to tell me that you have no idea how half a million quids worth of cocaine got into your cellar? The cellar under your shop and home? Where you spend the vast majority of your time?” Crowley sounded just as disbelieving as he felt.

Fell shrugged with an affected air of nonchalance.

“I didn’t even know that there was a cellar, detective. I suppose some unsavoury characters must have gained access somehow.

Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose and rested both his elbows on the table.

“That’s really the defence you’re going with? You didn’t even know there was a cellar?”

Aziraphale smirked, his mouth twisted with satisfaction. Crowley’s fist itched to connect with his teeth, just once. Just to wipe that smug look off the bastard’s face.

“It would seem that this is all an unfortunate misunderstanding,” said Fell, his soft voice at complete odds with his expression, “I will, of course, assist with your enquiries in any way that I can.”

His demeanour crawled under Crowley’s skin and needled him in all the most delicate places. He’d given up too much for this case and the evidence he’d painstakingly compiled was damning enough but he knew, he _knew_ in his bones that the case was only as good as its day in court. With a decent lawyer and this harmless shopkeeper act, Aziraphale would have any jury eating out of his hand. If Crowley couldn’t find something to tie Fell to the mountain of coke in his basement then his sacrifices would all be for nothing. Curse Fell and his cherubic face.

Gritting his teeth, Crowley snatched back the photograph and closed his file.

“Interview paused at 18:40. DC Crowley exiting the room.” He managed to press the button to stop the recording without smashing his palm into it and all but threw himself out of the room. As the door closed behind him, he heard Fell’s voice.

“Temper, temper, detective.”

“Sarge, tell me you’ve got something for me. Fell’s prints on the inside of the cellar, his footprints around the drugs, anything.” Crowley knew he sounded desperate but Dagon wouldn’t hold it against him, not right now.

“Not yet, but don’t let it worry you. I’ve sent most of the SOCOs home for Christmas so it’s slow going, but we’re being very thorough.” Dagon paused in a way that Crowley knew meant she was smoking, the sounds of Soho street life filled the silence for a beat. “We’re gonna nail him, even if the interview is a dead end.”

Crowley sighed and scrubbed his face with his free hand. He’d been pulling at his hair and it kept falling across his forehead in a loose curl.

“You haven’t seen him, sarge. He’s a defender’s wet dream. If this thing goes to trial and we haven’t got something solid connecting him to the shipment, he’ll walk.”

“Have some faith,” she said before exhaling. Crowley could see the stream of smoke in his mind, the reason most of the constables called her “dragon”. Or, at least, the reason they’d admit to out loud. “There’s something here and we’ll find it.”

Crowley had Fell moved to a cell and given one of the microwave ready meals from the station freezer. Sometimes a bit of the prison experience could serve to hammer home the seriousness of the situation. He didn’t think that Fell was ignorant of the gravity, not really, but a bit of a shock might remind him that this wasn’t a game. A couple of hours on a metal shelf and a plastic mattress had a way of focusing the mind.

When he made his way back to the interview room, Crowley had a more positive mindset, a fresh cup of good coffee, and the benefit of an hour-long nap at his desk. He expected that Fell would be beginning to fray a little.

Somehow, against all logic and expectation, Fell looked just as relaxed and composed as he had when Crowley had burst into his shop that afternoon. He smiled a sharp little grin at Crowley and tugged at his waistcoat before folding his hands over his stomach.

“Good evening again, detective. Still here so late on Christmas Eve? Surely this isn’t just for my benefit?”

Gritting his teeth, Crowley took a seat, set down his file and pen, and pushed the button to start the recording.

“Interview resumed at 23:04, December 24th. DC Crowley and Aziraphale Fell are present. Mr Fell has waived his right to legal counsel at this time. Are you happy to continue?” Crowley looked at Fell then, ignoring the deep urge to kick him under the table for being such an arrogant prick.

“Oh yes, quite happy,” Fell said and then he actually wiggled in his seat. Wiggled like he was settling in for a show or a haircut, something indulgent and lengthy.

Fuck, but Crowley hated him.

“I have, at this time, the ability to offer you certain incentives for your cooperation. The volume of narcotics found within your property removes any doubt about whether there is intent to supply. Do you happen to know the maximum sentence for possession with intent to supply a class A substance, Mr Fell?” Crowley kept his hands folded on top of the file, putting out the image of a man in control of the room.

“I can’t say that I do,” Fell answered, giggling slightly, “it’s not the sort of thing that comes up a lot in my line of work.”

“No? Unfortunate, knowing this might have convinced you to take a different path. It’s life imprisonment, by the way. Now, it’s unusual for a first offence to attract that sort of sentence but, well, half a million pounds worth of cocaine does suggest something of a large scale operation, doesn’t it?”

“I really wouldn’t know,” Fell said primly.

“In all seriousness, you’re looking at a 20-year sentence. Good behaviour might have you out in ten but then you’re still on parole and that’s no way to live a life, not at the sort of age you’ll be.” Crowley saw a minuscule flinch around Fell’s eyes at the mention of age. Perhaps a weak spot to dig at. Crowley tucks the thought away for later. “If you give us usable information about your supply chain, the smuggling operation, your competitors, then we will be able to work with the prosecution to seek a reduced sentence. Depending on the quality of the information, we may even be able to recommend a non-custodial sentence. You might not have to see the inside of a prison at all.”

It made him viscerally angry to offer this possibility to someone like Fell. Crowley knew that he was near enough to the top of the chain to be able to make a real difference to the accessibility of drugs in London but the thought of Fell walking out of court a free man felt like a slap in the face. In all likelihood, Fell would get a reduced sentence but the chance was there.

“Well, detective, I’d love to help you. I really would.” Fell’s face was telling a very different story to his voice. He looked almost murderous as though Crowley had physically threatened him or something he loved.

“Right, but you don’t know anything. Of course,” Crowley said as he flipped open his file and turned it around to face Fell, “these financial statements don’t mean anything to you?” He shuffled some other papers out, spreading them so Fell could see. “This money-laundering operation using _Intimate Books_ has nothing to do with you? And these phone records between yourself and known drug runners? Just members of your reading circle, are they?”

Fell leaned forward, squinting at the papers.

“My dear boy, I don’t even own a mobile telephone,” he said after a moment.

While it was true enough that no device had ever been registered to Aziraphale Fell, Crowley had other evidence. He flipped through the file and pulled out a couple of photographs.

“I am now showing the suspect a series of photographs,” Crowley said for the benefit of the recording, “Mr Fell, is this you in these pictures?”

Fell sat back and folded his arms across his chest.

“It certainly looks like me,” he admitted, his voice as airy as ever even as his face clouded over.

“And what do you appear to be doing in these photos?” Crowley asked, leading Fell to his own admission.

Fell’s lips pressed together in a thin line of displeasure.

“Why, I’m using a mobile telephone. I believe I had borrowed it from my dear friend for an emergency.” His face was thunderous now and his voice had started to sound a little forced.

“If you compare the timestamp of the photograph to this highlighted line in the call records, you’ll see that they match,” Crowley said, tapping the relevant place for Fell to examine.

“Coincidence is hardly a crime, detective, nor is making a phone call.”

Unable to keep himself from grinning, Crowley pulled further photographs from the file. Each showed Fell on the phone with a timestamp that corresponded neatly with a call on the list.

Fell said nothing. Crowley pressed his advantage.

“Perhaps you would like to reconsider my offer, Mr Fell? There’s no need to make things any worse than they have to be.”

Crowley leaned back and mirrored Fell’s pose, fully prepared to wait him out. He saw the exact moment that Fell cracked under the silence. A subtle change of his expression, the shadows shifting on his face as he decided to change tack. Crowley waited.

“Whatever did you do to be stuck here with me on Christmas Eve, detective?” Fell asked at last, all sweetness and innocent curiosity.

“This is my job, it’s not a punishment.”

Fell made a face at that, a little moue of sympathy that rubbed Crowley up completely the wrong way.

“You poor thing, nowhere better to be, no one better to spend Christmas with than a fussy bookseller.”

“Trust me, I’m exactly where I want to be: working towards charging a fussy, old drug dealer. This is my Christmas gift to myself.”

To Crowley’s surprise, Fell laughed. Actually threw his head back and laughed right down to his belly. His eyes were sparkling when he finally finished and Crowley had to hold his hands in tight fists at his sides to hold himself back.

“Bit difficult to wrap this gift, isn’t it?” Fell asked, clearly amused at his own joke, “Where would you even put the bow?”

Unbidden, the memory of Fell pressing himself into Crowley’s hand flashed large and vivid at the front of his mind. Despite himself, Crowley felt warmth creep up his cheeks.

“The satisfaction of seeing you brought to justice is enough.”

Fell hummed thoughtfully and began to examine his nails as if he had become bored with the interview.

“Interesting,” he said, pushing back one of his cuticles. This sudden disinterest threw Crowley for a loop, igniting an anger within him that took him by surprise. “How long have you obsessed over me, detective?”

“I am not obsessed!” Crowley spat, more viciously than he intended. Fell raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, detective! I’m flattered,” he said, leaning in once again and laying his hands on the table between them, “but do tell me, does this count as your longest relationship yet?”

Gritting his teeth, Crowley refused to answer. Working a case didn’t equate to a relationship, Fell was just trying to get under his skin and, fuck him, but it was succeeding. Unhelpfully, Crowley’s brain supplied the answer that, yes actually, this would be Crowley’s longest relationship if it counted. It didn’t count, but still. That was a harrowing thought.

“And we’ve never even been to dinner,” Fell tutted and shook his head, “how very remiss of me, detective. I’m usually much more of a romantic.”

Crowley splayed his hands on the table, intending to indicate his file of evidence.

“This isn’t going to help you, Fell. You need to make a decision quickly before your cooperation loses its value.”

Fell’s hand crept closer until his fingertips were brushing the side of Crowley’s hand.

“Are you sure about that, _detective_? Perhaps it is you who needs to make a choice.”

Crowley looked down at the point where his skin touched Fell’s. He knew that he should pull away, that the heat he felt was a fire that would only burn and consume him. He found himself powerless to do as he should. Wasn’t this what he had really wanted all along? Ever since he’d first laid eyes on Aziraphale Fell and sworn to bring him in, hadn’t he been secretly harbouring this dark fantasy?

He turned his hand on its side, breaking the contact but not pulling away, trying to work out what to do.

Fell’s hand mirrored the action and his fingers curled into stroke Crowley’s palm. Electricity skittered up his arm and down his spine. Stupidly, he glanced up at Fell only to see him looking back with a soft gaze.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” Fell asked in a low, rough whisper, “This is what you need.”

Obsession, dedication, love, hate, lust; somewhere along the way, the lines between these had been smudged and blurred into invisibility in Crowley’s heart. Was this what he wanted? With Fell’s gentle touch stroking the sensitive skin of Crowley’s palm he couldn’t think straight. Fell’s gaze seemed to bore through him.

He nodded, his head full of static.

“Let the record show that Detective Constable Crowley nodded his head,” Fell said, smirking.

Before Crowley could clear the fog in his mind and understand the significance of those words, Fell lunged over the table and kissed him viciously.

There was no finesse to it, no gentleness. Crowley’s teeth clashed against Fell’s, he bit his own tongue, and the papers under his hands were scrunched into fistfuls as he grasped at anything that might help ground him. Fell kissed like it was his reason for living, like he wanted to possess Crowley and nothing else. It was messy and all to easy for Crowley to lose himself to.

Fell pulled away after several long minutes and Crowley gulped in cool air before trying to chase the kiss across the table. A moment later he was hit with the reality of what he was doing. This would destroy the case, there would be no recovering from this. His whole career would be over.

Sanity settled in like an unwelcome guest, making room for itself in between Crowley’s fantasies and his current arousal.

“No,” he said, pulling back and shaking his head, “no.”

Fell’s hand shot forward and gripped the back of Crowley’s neck, squeezing just enough to turn Crowley’s insides to goo.

“No?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Crowley’s mouth was dry, his tongue fat and useless. He could walk away now, remove himself from the case, maybe take a demotion, and put all of this behind him. There would be evidence from the bookshop, Dagon knew the case as well as Crowley did. It didn’t need to be over.

“Fuck,” he said instead, climbing onto the table and scattering the papers, “yes.”

Fell dragged him the rest of the way over, kissing him soundly until Crowley was positioned to his liking, sitting on the edge of the table with Fell standing between his thighs.

“I am going to absolutely ruin you,” Fell growled into Crowley’s ear before sucking a kiss onto his throat.

It was true, maybe even more true than Fell realised. Crowley chuckled weakly and tilted his head to let Fell kiss and bite along his neck and shoulder. He clutched onto the lapels of Fell’s jacket and held him close as if too much distance would end this thing between them. Fell was undoing the buttons of Crowley’s shirt and tugging off his tie but Crowley couldn’t bring himself to remove so much as Fell’s jacket.

When the kisses moved to trail down Crowley’s bared chest, he forced himself to let go of Fell and shrugged off his shirt before allowing one hand to sink into the blond curls that had earned his street name of “Snow Angel”.

Fell bit at Crowley’s side causing pain to blossom in a hot burst that immediately mellowed into pleasure. Somehow, Fell knew exactly how to handle Crowley and keep him pliant. He was utterly useless now, only capable of experiencing whatever Fell gave him. His belt and trousers were quickly undone and Fell wrapped an arm around Crowley’s waist to lift him just off the table.

Crowley buried his face in Fell’s neck, burning hotly as he shimmied his trousers and pants down his thighs. This closeness was almost immediately snatched from him when Fell slipped to his knees and began to remove Crowley’s shoes. He was efficient in stripping Crowley, setting aside his shoes, socks and trousers in a neat pile.

“Look at you,” he said, leaning back to take in all of Crowley’s nakedness, “how much you want this.”

Crowley nodded, barely biting back a whimper. The table was cold against his backside but it was doing nothing to temper his arousal. Fell was still as buttoned up and neat as he had been when the interview began and that contrast to Crowley’s own state was doing things to him that he had never expected.

Fell stood, back between the enclosure of Crowley’s thighs, and ran one finger from Crowley’s temple down the side of his face to his neck, over his breastbone and down to his belly. Crowley watched Fell appreciate him and then looked down sharply as Fell’s hand closed around his cock.

Gratifyingly, Fell appeared to be equally affected as illustrated by the obscene bulge distorting the front of his trousers but Crowley had only a split second to register that before Fell was stroking him firmly.

“You’re going to be good for me, aren’t you?” Fell said, reaching his other hand around Crowley to stroke his back and draw him closer.

Crowley leaned forward into the warmth of Fell’s chest and let his hands settle on his hips like an anchor.

“Yes,” he said, slightly rubbing his cheek against the soft velvet of Fell’s waistcoat, “I’ll be good.”

Soon, Fell had Crowley gasping and bucking up into his hand, seeking the crest of his pleasure. It didn’t feel like the end but Crowley couldn’t hold back from chasing his release, his hands full of Aziraphale’s clothing as he held on for dear life.

As quickly as it began, everything stopped. Fell’s hand was gone from Crowley’s cock and he was falling back from the edge. A sob escaped him and he clutched harder at Fell, wondering if he had done something wrong.

“Oh hush, dear,” Fell said soothingly and he stroked Crowley’s hair, “it’s just for a little bit.”

Crowley knew that he should be ashamed of behaving this way but something in Fell’s manner made it alright, acceptable, _safe_. Tentatively, he moved to loosen Fell’s belt, letting his fingers brush against the solid weight of his erection. With a chuckle, Fell began to help him with the buttons of his trousers. Instead of pushing his trousers down, Fell guided Crowley’s hand into the opening of his fly and let him draw Fell’s cock out that way.

He knew that it was big, he’d learned that during the full body search, but still he managed to be surprised by the sight of Fell’s erection straining out towards him.

“Wow, fuck, that’s… yeah,” he said eloquently.

Fell laughed softly and stroked Crowley’s hair again.

“You want that? You can have it if you ask nicely.”

Crowley licked his lips and nodded, his mind blank of everything but the warm cock in his hand.

“Please,” he whispered, “please can I?”

With a nod, Fell took a step back and drew Crowley off the table. The hand in his hair slipped down to his shoulder and pressed down, encouraging Crowley to his knees. He didn’t need telling twice.

The concrete was smooth and hard on his knees but he put that thought away and opened his mouth. Before he could reach his goal, Fell’s hand stilled him by closing on the hair at the back of his head. He waited, confused but willing to be guided, until Fell took himself in hand, stroked his length twice, and then delicately fed the head of his cock into Crowley’s open mouth. He pushed forward until he hit the back of Crowley’s throat and made Crowley’s eyes water.

“Good boy,” he crooned, “relax for me.” Crowley did.

Fell pushed his cock into Crowley’s throat and down until Crowley’s eyes were streaming, his throat convulsing, and his head swimming. He put his hands on Fell’s thighs and tried to shove him away, desperate for breath. Fell held him steady for a beat longer and then pulled him off his cock and let him collapse to the floor in a gasping, drooling heap.

He expected to feel angry at the violation, knowing that Fell had ignored a clear signal to stop, but by the time Crowley had enough oxygen to think again, Fell was sitting beside him, gathering him into his lap.

“You’re alright, I wouldn’t let anything happen to you,” Fell said, petting Crowley from head to hip, “you did very well for me, you impressed me.”

The fight ran out of him at these words, Fell knew what he was doing and Crowley just needed to trust him. He could do that. His jaw ached but he was warm and comfortable and not in any danger. Crowley nodded and smiled, wondering when he had become this person.

“I’m going to fuck you now, right over that table.” His words were firm but his face held a question, asking Crowley to consent.

“Yes, okay,” Crowley said with a nod. His voice was hoarse but it felt like he’d passed a test.

“Oh, detective, you are a delight,” said Fell before helping Crowley to his feet and then following.

Crowley allowed himself to be arranged over the table, his hips pressed into the cold metal, his head pillowed on his folded arms, and his arse presented to Fell who rubbed the head of his cock against Crowley’s hole.

Somehow, Crowley had forgotten about the practicalities of what Fell wanted. They had no lube and Crowley was so tense that there was no way that this wouldn’t hurt. He started to push himself up from the table to point this out when Fell pushed him back down with a hand between his shoulder blades. The fingers of his other hand pressed against Crowley’s lips until he opened for them and sucked. He wetted them as much as possible, hoping it would make a difference.

Fell started with very gentle strokes over Crowley’s hole, spreading the wetness and coaxing him into relaxing. He kept up a stream of soft reassurance, telling Crowley how well he was doing and how pleased Fell was with him until Crowley felt like a melted puddle under his hands.

Finally, Fell breached him with a single finger. It had been so long since Crowley had done this that he expected far more discomfort but something about the way Fell handled him had worked. Still, Fell crooned his encouragement as he worked Crowley open. Crowley felt him spit on his fingers several times, making sure there was enough to ease his passage. It struck him that Fell cared, that he wanted to make this good for Crowley. It was a shocking realisation that only served to fuel his arousal.

“Oh, darling, keep thinking those thoughts,” Fell said, moving his fingers inside Crowley, “I can feel you wanting me.”

Unable to deny his desire, Crowley buried his face in his arms and moaned. He was going to go insane if Fell didn’t fuck him soon. Although, perhaps he was already insane. Nothing he was doing made any sense. The thick head of Fell’s cock pushed against his hole and wiped his mind of any thought aside from relaxing and letting Fell inside. It was slow going, even with the fingering, but Crowley wanted to take him all. He took deliberate breaths and held himself still all to hear the little gasps and grunts that Fell was making.

“There you are,” Fell said at last, breathless, “look at you taking me so well. Are you alright?”

“Brilliant,” Crowley managed to choke out. He was impossibly full and it was glorious.

“Next time, I’ll take far better care of you,” said Fell with a gentle roll of his hips, “I’ll make up for this if you let me.”

Crowley sobbed although he couldn’t say if it was from the sensation of fullness or the promise of a ‘next time’. He pushed his hips back in the place of an answer.

Fell moved carefully and slowly to start with, getting them both used to the feeling. Every movement had his cock rubbing over Crowley’s prostate and he was seeing stars almost immediately. He threw a hand back behind him, grasping blindly for Fell, and almost cried out when Fell took it and laced their fingers together.

Soon, he was thrusting hard enough to smack Crowley’s hips into the hard edge of the table. He was sure to have bruises by the time they were done but, fuck, he couldn’t make himself mind about that. He’d never been filled like this, never been so cared for and thoroughly used all at once. Addictive. That was the word for what he was feeling. He’d do deeply stupid things to feel this good again.

Fell was slowly unravelling behind him, panting and grunting each time he sank into Crowley. They fit perfectly and Crowley didn’t want to let Fell fuck anyone but him ever again. Crowley’s cock was painfully hard and dribbling with the anticipation of his orgasm, he reached down to touch himself, trying to put some space between his hips and the table edge.

Fell’s arm snaked around Crowley’s waist and then up to his shoulder, lifting him off the table until he was on his feet and leaning back against Fell’s chest.

“I’m so close, my beauty,” Fell all but hissed into Crowley’s ear, still thrusting into him, “come with me. I know you can.”

Crowley squeezed his eyes tightly shut in response to the over-stimulation but nodded all the same. He grabbed at his cock and wrapped his fingers around the base, fighting his desire to come immediately. He heard Fell’s breaths falter and knew that the moment was here. With starbursts behind his eyelids, Crowley tugged at his cock a mere handful of times before the guttural exhalation from Fell pushed him over his own edge. He came in thick stripes, all across the table and his ruined papers as Fell pulsed inside him.

They collapsed in a tangle of limbs, reminding Crowley that Fell was still fully dressed. Come was already sliding out of his well-fucked hole and Fell looked like he had just had a little run for the bus. Tentatively, Crowley reached up and cupped Fell’s cheek to draw him down for a kiss. When their lips met, Crowley’s heart threw itself against the back of his ribs in joy.

Fell shifted enough to reach up to the table, bringing down Crowley’s cold coffee and making Crowley at least take a sip. When he put it back up, he seemed to feel about on the table for a moment after depositing the cup.

“Interview terminated at 02:17, December 25th,” he said and then Crowley heard the click of the recorder button.

“Oh shit,” Crowley whimpered, trying to squirm away from Fell’s grasp, “what have I done?”

Fell held him steady and kissed his forehead until he calmed.

“It will all be well, trust me. I am going to leave in a few minutes, then you are going to gather yourself together and go home. Pack whatever you cannot stand to lose and wait for me, I will be with you before the sun comes up and we will celebrate Christmas properly.” Fell paused and looked into Crowley’s eyes, holding his face gently. “Do you understand me? Can you do that for me?”

Crowley started to nod but then began to doubt and frown.

“Do you even know where I live?” he asked, afraid of being left to face these consequences alone.

“Oh, my darling detective, I daresay I’ve known who you are for longer than you’ve known about me. Do not fret, I will not leave you, not after waiting so long to have you to myself.”

A normal person might have been alarmed but, well, Crowley wasn’t normal. Fell had obsessed over him as much as Crowley had in return. They were a match.

He nodded and accepted another kiss, letting his fears dissolve in the face of Fell’s tender regard. Fell put himself to rights and then helped Crowley dress, tutting over the mess leaking down his thighs but kissing him all the same.

“Before the sun rises,” Fell said with a final kiss, “be ready for me.” And he was gone, walking out of the station as if he owned the place.

Crowley began to gather his papers, making a face at the mess he had made, when his phone rang. His stomach dropped like a stone at the sight of Dagon’s name. Still, he answered, sitting in one of the chairs rather than collapsing.

“Sarge?”

“We’ve got him, Crowley. The bastard wanted us to believe that he didn’t even know about the cellar? Ha! Go on, ask me how we did it,” Dagon said, excited in the way that only all night forensic jobs can make a person.

“How?” Crowley asked, feeling numb.

“We found this weird pattern in the dirt of the cellar floor. Took us a while to place it but, sure enough, it’s a perfect match for the footprint of his wine rack. So we checked the rack and, well, wouldn’t you know it? The base is covered in this very specific cement dust. It’s a perfect match. He’s going away for a long time, Crowley! We did it!”

Crowley scrubbed a hand over his face. He had always known that Fell was guilty but, somewhere along the way, it had stopped being important.

“That’s great, sarge! Best Christmas present I could have asked for,” Crowley said, forcing himself to sound enthusiastic.

“You can get yourself home now, Crowley. Charge the bastard, remand him in custody, then go and get your head down.”

“Cheers, sarge.” Crowley ended the call and looked down at his hands. He’d already made his decision but now, with Fell gone and his sergeant’s words fresh in his head, it was feeling a lot more complicated.

Except, it didn’t have to be. With a zen-like calm, Crowley stood up from his seat and walked away. He left the interview room, littered with paper and streaked with his come. He fetched his car keys from his locker and left his work phone inside. With the weight of the world finally off his shoulders, Crowley sauntered out of the station and into the cold night. He didn’t need to fear the cold. He had a snow angel to protect him.

**Author's Note:**

> A round of applause for making it this far. Let me tell you that I did not see that ending coming. Apparently, they are in love now? Love it when a twist ending surprises even the author!
> 
> Tell me, was this what you were expecting?


End file.
